


Take the Gloves Off

by ickis



Series: He Wears Gloves at Home, Too [2]
Category: Subway Surfers
Genre: But weird, First person reader, Fluff and Angst, No Smut, Other, POV First Person, TW: Blood mention, frank is a sweetheart, frank x reader - Freeform, gender neutral reader, gotta love it, simp food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ickis/pseuds/ickis
Summary: "I tried for so long to be complacent. I tried to play along with him because I knew how much he loved me. I didn’t want to make his life harder by putting up a fight. After a while, though… It got harder to bear."You find it hard to understand Frank these days, and it causes a bit of pain.
Relationships: Frank/Reader
Series: He Wears Gloves at Home, Too [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125974
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Take the Gloves Off

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! just wanted to write a lil sequel. hope you simps like it!! :D

For so long, I found myself watching my dear boyfriend as if he were the newest episode on _National Geographic_. He was strange to say the least. 

He’d always be up at the asscrack of dawn going to work, and somehow it was never when I was awake. I tried to catch him, too. I set alarms earlier and earlier each day, but somehow every time I awoke I would only be greeted by the smell of his cologne still lingering. It was like he knew when I was going to wake up, and I don’t find it hard to believe that he did. 

Once he got home at night he would be in much worse shape than which he left. I understood that his job was dangerous, but could I really be blamed for being upset when my boyfriend came home with gunshot wounds that his coworkers had to patch up? He wasn’t allowed to go to the hospital or any doctors- _“Too risky”_ he claimed. At times it felt like his life mattered less than his job. The thought of this made my blood boil, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t like making him upset. 

I tried for so long to be complacent. I tried to play along with him because I knew how much he loved me. I didn’t want to make his life harder by putting up a fight. After a while, though… It got harder to bear. 

“Frank,” I sighed. He’s done it again. He wore his mask all day without break, and now he’s hurting. The scratches framing his face had split open and were now bleeding. With little trails of blood circling his face and pooling at the base of his jaw before slowly trickling down his neck, it almost looked like his real face was a mask as well. At times, I wondered if it was just a mask. That plain look he always wore that made him look like he’s constantly deep in thought- was it fake? What lay underneath? 

Even as I dabbed the blood from his cheek, he looked gone. I found myself wondering what his real face looked like right then- the one under his flesh mask. Is he upset- angry? Is he ashamed? Is he happy, comfortable, confused- anything? Is there anything going on in his mind? What isn’t he showing me? Who is he really? _Who are you? Are you anyone? Are you merely a husk that was once someone I loved? Why don’t you speak anymore? You’ve always been so quiet, but now it’s painfully quiet and I can’t help but wonder why. Is it me? Why-_

“Ow…” Came the soft voice like that of a child. When I looked back down at him I found my rag soaked in blood, and his face a million times worse than how it looked to begin with. His own gloved hand reached up to touch the cloth burn I’d left in my rage. He visibly winced when the latex touched his raw, seeping flesh. When he looked at me I finally saw something; a hint of life behind his vacant eyes, but it wasn’t something I wanted to see- it was fear. He was afraid, and maybe even ashamed. 

I hurt him. 

In a brief moment of panic, I tossed my rag and dropped to my knees between his legs so that I could be on his level. “Oh, Frankie, I’m sorry- I- I didn’t mean to do it so rough,” I could feel the tension rising as I reached out to hold his face in my hands. The air became unbearably thick as he sat and stared at me. I wanted him to do something- anything! Why was he just looking at me? _Did I go too far? Does he hate me?_

I was about to move away from him when he finally gave me a response. He looked down at his lap and carefully peeled off his gloves before placing a hand over mine. He grabbed the other and held it in his lap with a gentleness I hardly got to see these days. He nuzzled into the hand still placed on his cheek before pressing a quick kiss to my palm. 

“It’s alright. I’m fine,” He said gently in his all-too smooth voice. He was always so calm, and while that usually unnerved me, right now it was exactly what I needed. I could feel the air grow lighter with each moment. It was like I could finally breathe again. “Did you want to, uh, talk about it?” He said with some weariness in his voice. 

“No, we don’t have to. I know that you don’t really like to talk.” I replied with a sad smile. 

He quirked an eyebrow and let out a chuckle. That laugh of his was nothing short of magical. It was a laugh that I didn’t get to hear often, but drowned myself in every time I did. “You’re right! I just never have much to say, I suppose. But if you _need_ to talk, I talk back.” He squeezed my hands firmly as he spoke. I felt my entire body relax against him as I bathed in his love. 

That’s right! He loved me. Finally, after so many months of questioning it, I understood. His love wasn’t perfect, but it was there nonetheless. Sure, he would wear gloves when he held me, but he held me so close. He wouldn’t speak for days on end, but he would make his appreciation known by holding me and kissing me. He was the definition of strange, but he was wonderful. As I laid my head on his lap he said nothing. He didn’t need to. He petted me as if I were some lapdog, and I ate it up. No _‘I love you’_ was spoken. It didn’t need to be. I felt it all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> eat up, simps


End file.
